


so long and lost (are you missing me?)

by serein



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, F/M, Florence + the Machine References, Long & Lost, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-03 15:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5296673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serein/pseuds/serein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I figured out where I belong."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	so long and lost (are you missing me?)

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [London9Calling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/London9Calling/pseuds/London9Calling) in the [23emotions](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/23emotions) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> ameneurosis
> 
> n. the half-forlorn, half-escapist ache of a train whistle calling in the distance at night.

The night is a blue color, suspended in melancholy and emptiness. The clouds are few in the wide sky, and the snow on the young ground is fresh and pockmarked by soft deer prints and the yellow warmth of cottages. The evergreens are plenty and towering; the wind is gentle. It is bitterly cold, and the air is still.

Quiet.

Peaceful.

Silent.

Lifeless.

And then the whistle comes, shrill, forlorn, a pitch augmented by a dream of escape and diminished by a reality of heartbreak, screaming ferociously into the depth of the navy air. The train that it is attached to appears quickly afterwards, a snake of metal and engine and human, a device to spring love and not-love onto innocent eyes, a dull roar of white smoke and groaning steel. The whistle howls, hurling relentlessly through the frozen atmosphere, and anyone living within five miles feels its heightened anxiety.

One such person is Gary Unwin, charmingly named "Eggsy". If he were a business card, he would read

**GARY "EGGSY" UNWIN**  
**TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF AGE**  
**A BAKER DURING THE DAY  
**AND A ROMANTIC AT NIGHT**  
ENJOYS COFFEE AND CUDDLING **

Perhaps it would be more precise to say _fresh_ -bachelor, because it had been just forty minutes ago that he had moved from "I'm taken" to "here's my number".

Forty minutes ago, he had been at the train station, and a girl on the howling train had been kissing him.

Yes, there is a girl on the train. She is sitting in a smooth brown train seat and she is fidgeting with her mobile device. It's the last link she has to Eggsy, but she had sealed her goodbye with a terrifying finality. Her business card would read

**ROXY MORTON**  
**TWENTY-THREE YEARS OF AGE  
**ASPIRING WRITER  
**ENJOYS HORSES AND FREEDOM** ****

As it turns out, it was the final word - freedom - that would pang Eggsy's heart, and what would cause the girl to end up on the train and cause Eggs to huddle in his own car, heater turned all the way up, at the station where the train had been released to the winds...

The tiger that was Roxy's freedom had sprung out of its iron cage of attachment not an hour ago, hurdling quickly towards the edge of the dark path of woods that was Eggsy's sadness. It had first barred its garish teeth four weeks ago, when Merlin had come over to Eggsy's lonely, safe cabin, and the trio had been drinking beer and sharing secrets, like any group of twenty-somethings would do. 

"I," Roxy had said, "want to travel." And it was a valid desire of hers, to want to see the world. What wasn't valid, though, was the qualifier that she hadn't said, was the adjoining word that she had thought in the whims of her mind was supposed to belong at the end of her sentence. _Alone._

"Me too," Merlin had replied, casually, "I want to go to Japan. See all the temples, breathe in the nature, find peace with my body, eat sushi. Plus it's far away from this stupid town, and all its stupid people." And he had meant it. He really, really meant it.

Eggsy could only think that he was lucky in comparison to Merlin. Merlin, who had lost his best friend to the mental demons of post-war. Merlin, who had found his father lying on a cold kitchen floor, heart leaping towards a shaken stop. Merlin, who had lost his sister to the darkness. Merlin, who had gone through it all and lived, lived strongly and beautifully and normally.

"Yeah," Eggsy had agreed, unthinkingly. "We should go somewhere, Rox. South of France, buy a yacht, feel the ocean? Drink champagne, eat caviar? Sound good to you?" In his defense, there was a little bit of alcohol in his system, and Eggsy wasn't always the best drinker. Even beer made him a little woozy.

"Nah," Roxy had replied, foam at the edges of her mauve-lipsticked mouth, "I think I want to go to Norway. Sweden. Somewhere cold. Cold and isolated. Or maybe Iceland, for hiking. Hawaii, for the volcanoes. New York, for the people, and the life, and the men."

"The men?" Eggsy had laughed it off, thinking it minor and humorous. "Am I not enough for you? Have you seen these big guns?" He had flexed, flashing a charming smile at his girlfriend.

"Yeah, well, I mean, American guys are pretty cute," Roxy had said.

"I'm not cute?" Eggsy had puffed out his upper lip and gotten on his knees, crawling towards Roxy. The other two had laughed, and the situation dissolved.

Well, kind of.

It disappears in Eggsy's mind, at least temporarily.

Japan remains the subject of Merlin's reaching imagination.

And Roxy doesn't forget at all, because once she first feels the urging tendrils of fernweh at the tip of her tongue, at the roots of her scalp, she can't escape it. It follows her. It eats at her conscience, eats at her reflection in the stained oval mirror in the bathroom, eats at the picture of her and Eggsy on the mantle, happy and in love...

-

The next time fiery eyes and the ferocious nose of Roxy's freedom appear is a week after the fireside chat. This time Roxy is at a party, and so is Eggsy, and Eggsy is desperately, desperately drunk, lost in the hoard of bodies and limbs.

Roxy, on the other hand, is just There. In the corner. Under the frenetic lighting and surrounded by intoxicated, sexually active people, including three boys who had leered at her and groped her and grinded on her clearly uncomfortable body. She pushes them away, violently, and they sod off, thankfully, cursing at her wildly. Eggsy, however, is nowhere to be seen. 

So Roxy - Roxy - Roxy decides that it'd probably best to just find the bar and order a drink, because for now, nothing else will make her feel better. She pushes through throngs of people, finding the worn wooden bar and propping herself up on a ripped leather stool, and bites her lip as she waits for the bartender to get to her. She watches as he pours a young guy - probably still in his teens - a drink, and the shiver of anticipation run down the kid's spine before he gulps the thing down. It's oddly mesmerizing, to watch as the kid jumps off the bar stool and stumbles his way back to the main dance floor, where the music is so loud that Roxy can feel the beat in her chest from where _she's_ sitting. Just then, the bartender's in front of her, inquiring. 

"What can I get you, young lady?" 

"A cup of water." 

The bartender laughs, and asks again. "No, really, what can I get you?" 

"A cup of water." 

The bartender stares at her funny, but follows her orders, finding a small,translucent plastic cup and pouring bottled water into it. Dumping a single, perfect ice cube into the mix, he hands her the little cup and takes the dollar that she offers him. Seeing that the bar's pretty much empty besides her and an old man, passed out drunk at the end of the table, he talks to her, voice deep and welcoming. 

"You know, when it's half past midnight, I've never had anyone ask me for water. Normally it's scotch or something stronger by now." The bartender says. 

"Well, I don't really have any emotions to drown out," Roxy replies. "Besides the fact that my boyfriend is nowhere to be seen." 

He smiles. "Do you want me to put up a missing puppy sign up for him or something?" 

"That might actually work. Could I get a Sharpie and a piece of paper?" She plays with it. _I mean, he's kinda cute. Even under this abysmal lighting. And he has been looking at my cleavage a little bit more than what's normal, so..._

"Sure," the bartender tells her, grinning. Reaching under the counter, he fetches a marker and a scrap of paper, placing them in front of her. "This good enough for you?" 

"Perfect," she replies. Someone's come to the bar, and the bartender rushes off to serve the blond girl who's impatiently tapping a heel on the floor. 

Writing down her number on the paper, she grins and crumples the sheet up into a tight ball. As the bartender's taking the girl's order, she aims and tosses the paper at the bartender, bonking him on the head. 

"Oy," he yells at her. "Watch the hair!" 

"It's not going to hurt you," she calls back, "despite what you might think." 

The blond girl just rolls her eyes, and the bartender turns his attention back to her. After taking her order, she watches him pick up the paper from the ground and unwrap it. His eyes meet hers, and she winks. He winks back, and mouths something indistinguishable. She shrugs, and smiles. He goes back to making the blond girl's order, and she just smiles to herself. She finds the door to the bar, edging past couples making out. But right before she pushes out into the cold, cold air, she sees Eggsy's black-and-yellow cap on his stupid head, much closer to the edge of the crowd than she thought. Faintly, she can make out the shape of a gyrating girl on her boyfriend, going to town. Hurt, and confused, she crosses her arms over her, she starts jog-walking back to her apartment. And it is there, right there, where freedom grabs her by the neck and asks for her spirit. 

_Eggsy can probably just catch a cab,_ she thinks. _Oh, who the fuck cares about Eggsy, right now, honestly? Drunken bastard. A hot bartender has my number. Goddammit, Eggsy, you motherfucking little bitch._

-

The bartender never calls her.

Eggsy does, though.

"Roxy," his voice comes, the next day, "where are you?"

"At home," she replies, cautious. "Where are _you_?"

"I'm at Harry's. I - I had him pick me up because I couldn't find you. I - I'm sorry, Rox, really, I'm sorry -"

"It's fine."

_Well, it would have been if hot bartender had just called me._

"You don't sound fine. Is there - is there anything I can do to make it up to you, babe? Should I come over? We can cuddle, maybe? Watch something on Netflix? Bake a pie?"

"No, I'm okay."

"But you love doing domestic things with me!"

"I'm fine, Eggsy. Literally." She's holding back her irritation now, biting on her lip to keep herself from spewing.

"Rox -"

"I'm fine. Honestly, Eggsy, just go. I'm in the middle of a scene in that darned screenplay. I'll call you later."

_In the middle of a scene of my life, where my boyfriend leaves me to rot whenever he likes._

"OK, Rox, but -"

"I'm serious, Eggsy. Go. Go to the bakery, open up shop, bake some cupcakes. Make yourself happy."

"But - well, okay, Rox, if you say so, love."

"Yeah, I say so. Goodbye, Eggsy."

"Um, okay, bye, Rox. I love you."

"Bye, Eggsy."

She hangs up the phone and sighs. "Goddammit, why am I even with him? He can't even handle a glass of wine, for god's sake. And he expects me to be okay with him grinding on some twerking girl."

And then the thought comes to her.

A frightening, terrifying, betraying thought of great power and great irresponsibility.

 _What if,_ she thinks, _I just end it? End it all?_

_Right now?_

_But there's no reason to,_ she counters back at herself. 

_But why not?_

_Because why ruin something that there's nothing wrong with?_

_Because_ , she reasons, unthinkingly, _Because you don't love him anymore._

And it is shocking to her, it is shocking to admit to herself that Eggsy is no longer the love of her life, is no longer who she calls home...

"Godfuckingdammit."

_I no longer love him._

She no longer loves him.

She no longer loves him.

_She no longer loves him._

And it is painful.

Oh, god, is it painful.

It is so painful that inside her mind, she is asphyxiating; inside her mind, her heart is being torn out of her chest and thrown into the trash disposal; inside her mind, her body is crackling into a thousand tiny shards of glass, fragile and broken and irreparable.

It is so painful that, for a full five minutes, her body freezes, and she is compelled to sit on the carpeted floor and just wait. Wait for the epiphany to pass. Wait for the shock to dissolve. Suspend herself in a cold, foreign moment until her fingers can touch the welcoming hands of warmth and familiarity again.

Because she is lost.

Because for the first time in her life, she is so utterly lost that she has no idea what to do, and there is nothing she can do to find her way back to reason and logic.

She watches the clock on the wall tick, the red hand revolving steadily, the long black hand a snail in a race of panthers, the short black hand a child consumed too much by her life that she fails to understand that everything and everyone is progressing so much faster than she is, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, she can do about it...

-

Eggsy's crying, when she tells him in his own car. When she's supposed to be driving to the grocery store to get a ham for Christmas. When she's supposed to be singing along to the Adele song on the radio and laughing at its melodrama. When she's supposed to be kissing him, loving him, being _in_ love with him.

When she tells him everything.

His first words, though, through the tears, are simple, and confusing. "It's okay," he whispers to her, the tension between the two palpable. The train station's in sight at this point, and Roxy parks easily in the closest space in the jam-packed lot. 

"I'm sorry," she says. "For making it like this."

"It's okay, Rox. It's okay."

"I'm sorry I'm hurting you."

"It's okay, Rox. If this is what makes you - makes you happy. If this is what makes you happy." He points shakily at the station through the car window, a blurry fifty-five meters away from them.

"It'll make you happier, Eggsy. I promise."

"No," he refuses. "No, it won't. Because I've never felt this way before. Because I thought - I thought you loved me."

"And I did love you, Eggsy. Eggsy, look at me." She places her soft fingers on his face and turns his head towards her, staring deep into his teary eyes. "Hey. Hey. I did love you. Please understand that. I did love you. I loved you so damn incredibly hard that I absolutely hate myself for doing this now, but I have to do it. For your good. And for mine."

"How," he asks her, looking down, "can this be good?"

"Because," she replies, tilting his head upward. "Because this is honest. Because now I won't be able to hurt you."

"You already hurt me, Rox," he says, tears falling, "you're hurting me right now. Goddammit, Rox, you're hurting me so much right now. Can't you see me, Rox? Can't you see that I'm hurting?"

Her heart is breaking, now, even though she thought it wasn't possible it could sustain anymore damage.

"I love you, Eggsy, but you have to understand that this - us - is never going to work out."

"But why, Rox? Why won't it ever work out?"

"Because," she replies, absolutely serious, face inches away from his, "because I am too imperfect for you. Because I need freedom, and danger, and you are safety and restriction. Because I've figured out...where I belong. And that's not with you."

"But I love you."

"But you love me. And that's why this is going to hurt, Eggsy."

And so she leans in and kisses him incredibly hard, kisses him with all her might and her will and her encompassing grief, and she can taste his tears on her lips and his love for her in her chest.

"I'm so, so, so sorry, Eggsy." With that, she steps out of the car, placing his keys gently on the driver's seat, holding her purse close to her body, running across the parking lot ungracefully, imperfectly. It's started to snow, and Eggsy watches as she approaches the platform, digging through her bag for her ticket. It's almost surrealistic to him, to watch the love of his life get on a train hurdling towards god-knows-where, hurdling towards distance and heartbreak, without a trace of a look over her shoulder or a sign of regret.

He can still feel her warmth on his lips.

-

the end.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so desperately sorry.
> 
> Title inspired by Florence + The Machine's "[Long And Lost](http://youtu.be/Dl9BqqXaMnE)".
> 
> \- M


End file.
